Where Your Heart Is
by Ancora-LeFay
Summary: The secret is out, and Merlin & Arthur are forced to leave Camelot to survive. While they're gone, Morgana takes the throne and the kingdom falls into her ruin. Separated, the prince has to decide - Camelot, or Merlin? Adventure, Slash - ArthurxMerlin
1. Chapter 1

**I haven't tried writing anything like this in a long time, so I'm sorry if it's jumping around funny or doesn't flow well or something else like that!  
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**be warned: this is SLASH. don't like it, don't read it - I've warned you, so don't complain.**

**Disclaimer - I own nothing, Merlin is all BBC. If it were mine, things would be a liiittle different...**

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><p>Merlin was late.<p>

Merlin was very, very late. The sun was already high in the sky, it being well nearing noon, and he hadn't even served Arthur his breakfast yet - let alone walked the dogs, mucked out the stables, polished Arthur's armor, or done any of his other usual chores.

Leaping from bed and changing rapidly, he practically galloped down the hall. He tripped (only once) rushing down the stairs and past other servants to the now nearly empty kitchens. A hungry prince is a grumpy one, so breakfast takes priority. The cook gave him a dirty look as Merlin grabbed Arthur's cold breakfast and rushed back out of the room, knocking over a recently cleaned pot in the process. Blushing, he kept his head down the whole run to Arthur's chambers.

Merlin reached the door, pausing a heartbeat to gather himself before slowing turning the handle. He pulled on his best apologetic puppy-dog smile, and braced himself for what was waiting.

And what was waiting was one very moody, dark, and _hungry_ looking Prince.

"_Mer_lin," Arthur growled, "do you have _any _idea what time it is?"

Merlin sighed and ducked his head, making his way over to the Crown Prince's desk where papers and documents laid scattered and unlooked. He made a space and placed the tray of breakfast down quietly. The entire room seemed dishevelled and overturned, even more so than usual.

"I'm sorry, sire, I was up late yesterday evening and overslept this morning. It won't happen again."

Silence followed. After a moment, Merlin peeked his head up to see a very distracted Arthur staring through his window, already having forgotten about Merlin, clearly deep in thought.

"Sire?"

No answer.

"Arthur?"

Still nothing.

"Dollophead?"

A clunk in the head as an expertly thrown cup smacks Merlin, hard.

"Well _someone's_ not had anything to eat yet." Merlin grumbles, rubbing his head as he navigates the mess to reach Arthur by the window.  
>The prince nearly grins, "And whose fault is that?" Merlin gets to the window and leans over Arthur to see what's distracted him so much as to forget about being hungry.<p>

The sight, though in his years in Camelot Merlin must have seen it tens of times before, still manages to cause his stomach to clench and his heart to stutter.

"One of the townspeople have accused him of sorcery, and father has been in such a mood lately he isn't waiting for real proof before sentencing..." Arthur murmurs, his eyes trained on the stake slowly being arranged.  
>"This isn't right, if anything, the boy was only using it to heal his injured and dying sister!"He runs a frustrated hand through his hair which now hung slightly over his eyes, abandoning his post at the window to pace the room. The whole situation was clearly upsetting him.<p>

Merlin stayed frozen, suddenly unable to breath. His eyes are locked on what would soon become the boy's grave. For some reason, this particular instance was hitting him far too close to home. Perhaps it's because it's the first time he's seen a child sentenced. Or maybe it's because he knows that at such a young age, the boy couldn't possibly have studied magic - he was dying because of the way he was born.

It takes a breeze through the window to make Merlin realize the tears rolling down his cheeks. He quickly rubs them away with his sleeve, surprised, before Arthur can notice. It would raise too many questions - like Merlin noted, he had seen this before. Why should this case be any different?  
>He doesn't get them all in time - a strong hand grips Merlin's wrist and gently pulls it from his face. The warlock glances up to see not the cold face of a prince, but the soft eyes of Arthur. A tear threatens to break once more, so Arthur reaches up and catches it on his thumb before it falls, leaving his hand resting on Merlin's cheek. Gently, he reaches up to brush away a dark section of hair that rests in front of Merlin's eyes, before glancing into them himself.<p>

Arthur's eyes meet Merlin's, blue into blue. Full of understanding and comfort, and something else Merlin can't quite place. Arthur's voice is low, a murmur,  
>"Merlin. You know I won't let them hurt you. You know I ... I could never hurt you."<p>

The prince pulls a properly confused warlock to his chest and wraps his arms around him tight. Merlin, although confused, warms to the touch and returns the embrace, sinking into Arthur's chest and sighing once. He'd grown used to these arms over the past month, since he and Arthur's relationship had changed from prince and servant to something more. These arms had become a comfort, a home.  
>Merlin sighed again, his voice slightly muffled from speaking into the prince's chest,<br>"I don't understand, Arthur - why would anyone hurt me? Why are you saying this?"

Arthur pulled away enough that he could stare directly into the warlock's eyes, never wavering. He spoke softly, but with a determined conviction to get whatever he was going to say out into the open.

"Because I know, Merlin. I know who and what you are."


	2. Chapter 2

_"Because I know, Merlin. I know who and what you are."_

Merlin jerked back away from Arthur, shock gripping his system. Holding the prince at arms length, the warlock's mind goes into overdrive.

Arthur _couldn't _know - he must be referring to something other than Merlin's magic. Yes. Yes, that was it, Arthur must mean he knows about Merlin's habit of not washing between his toes, or that he sometimes hides food under his neckerchief during long council meetings, or something else embarassing like that. There was no way the prince could know his manservant was a warlock.

It was impossible! No guards were being called, Arthur wasn't looking at him in disgust or anger, and the arms still held around him were definitely there to hold him together, not to keep him prisoner.  
>Arthur <em>had <em>just mentioned how he wasn't going to let anyone hurt Merlin.

This was too much. Merlin wasn't going to get his hopes up for nothing. His panicked eyes reach Arthur's, searching, and suddenly he understands - those patient, reassuring blue eyes were never going to hurt him. Arthur knew, knew about Merlin's magic, and he honestly didn't want him dead.  
>This was more than he ever could have dreamed for.<p>

"You.. you know?" Merlin's voice is barely above a whisper, hoarse with remaining fear. Frowning at Meriln's skittishness, Arthur rubs his hands up and down Merln's arms comfortingly in an effort to calm him down. When he's seen that Merlin isn't going to have a nervous breakdown, he allows himself a small smile.  
>"I know. Of course I know. I'll admit, I'm a little disappointed you didn't tell me yourself. But I couldn't take it any longer, not with the plans we need to make now -"<p>

"What plans? Wait, Arthur, how can you know? _When_ did you know, for how long? Why -"

"Shh..." Arthur resumes rubbing Merlin's arms, bringing him back to his chest in another embrace. "With you saving my life every other day, how could I not notice?" he murmurs, his voice low. "As for why I didn't mention it earlier, I was rather hoping you would. You know you can trust me with anything, don't you?"

Speechless, Merlin only nods into the other man's chest.  
>A feeling of gratefulness, warmth and sheer happiness spreads through his veins and chases out the fear. The warlock grins and turns his head up so he can see Arthur's face. Leaning forward, he rushes to bring their lips together. Caught a little off guard, the prince is still quick to react, responding enthusiastically and tightening his arms around the other man.<br>All too quickly Merlin pulls away, but keeps close so their forheads are touching. He keeps grinning as he whispers,  
>"You brilliant, beautiful, wonderfully stupid <em>prat<em>. Of course you know."

Pulling his arms in tighter, the sudden relief of the whole situation hits him - Merlin's knees give out and suddenly the arms around him are the only thing keeping him upright.

The prince stumbles back towards the table and sits Merlin down, the warlock smiling weakly up at him.  
>"Sorry," he mutters, "It's a lot to take in..."<br>Arthur nods in understanding, giving the man a moment to relax before bringing up what questions had been bothering him since he had found out. He takes his own calming breath before beginning.

"When did you start studying sorcery?"

The warlock glances up, calmed down enough to answer, and does so quite plainly -  
>"I didn't."<p>

Clearly not the answer he was expecting, Arthur raises his eyebrow in confusion, encouraging Merlin to continue. He smiles slightly, hopefully, in return.

"I'm not a sorcerer, I'm a warlock - there's a difference."

"The difference being...?"

"Sorcerers take years of study and training, not to mention the talent you need to accomplish anything other than the most basic of spells.  
>Warlocks, like me, are born with magic - it's as natural a part of them as breathing. Mind you, most aren't quite the same as me - I'm supposed to be a bit more powerful than any others, something to do with druid legends and destiny and stuff, but I won't go too far into that right now..."<p>

It's Arthur's turn to be properly stunned. He'd never had any doubt that Merlin meant no harm towards him or Camelot, but to find out that his manservant was more powerful than any others - it filled him with guilt and regret. Before he knew the secret, before they had become friends, Arthur had treated Merlin like a useless tool, a bumbling servant, and Merlin had taken it all - played his part perfectly.  
>How lonely it must have been, to be so powerful and never receive any credit or thanks; to be so kind, loyal, and have to pretend to be a fool. It had never even been Merlin's choice to have magic in the first place, Arthur had never thought to imagine that that was <em> possible -<em>

"Oh, God."

Merlin sits up in a hurry, Arthur's sudden change in attitude alarming. "Arthur? Arthur, what's wrong?"

The blank face of the prince meets the warlock's worry, the blue eyes slowing growing more panicked every second. Arthur speaks slowly, deliberately, as though still trying to understand what he was saying,  
>"All the people I've brought to their deaths - the <em>children<em> - some of them never did anything, they were just _born that way?_"

Relief swept through the warlock - for an instant, he had been worried he'd said the wrong thing, something to shake Arthur from his resolve, something that would result in his death - before overwhelming guilt took it's place. Arthur was clearly in pain, that needed to be his priority right now, not his own relief. That could be saved for later.

"Arthur, it's not your fault, there's nothing you could have done. Your father wouldn't have listened, it's not your fault," Merlin whispers soothingly, grabbing the prince's steady shoulders and bringing his face close. He takes Arthur's hand and brings it to his own face, holding it there. "But you can change it soon. You can fix this, Arthur, I know you can. Be the king Camelot needs. That _I _need."

The prince nods absently, still overcome with the weight of what he and his father's rule have done. Merlin smiles, trying to bring Arthur out of this grief.

"But everything is perfect now, right? No more secrets."

Arthur's eyes meet his, still filled with saddness, but with a small spark.

"No more secrets. At least, not between us. I don't think it's a good idea for anyone else to find out about your magic quite yet - "  
>The prince gets cut off abruptly as a sharp clang echoes from outside the bedroom's door. Both men break apart and Merlin rushes forward to see whats happened.<p>

Suddenly, Gwen is there, out of breath and panicked, looking at each of her friends in turn. Her eyes stop on Merlin, begging him to forgive her -  
>"I heard everything. I don't care about any of it, Merlin, I really don't - I think it's great in fact. Absolutely! And it's really not a surprise, not when you think about it-"<p>

"Guenivere!" Arthur barks, cutting in sharply. Gwen goes silent, her eyes darting between them. "What is the matter, we heard a loud noise..?"

The coffee-skinned girl's eyes return to lock with those of the warlock, the fear in them evident. But not for herself.  
>"I wasn't the only one who heard. I was surprised as you by the sound - there was a maid listening behind me. She dropped the tray when she ran - I fear she's gone to tell Uther everything! Merlin, you need to get out, run, now!"<p>

Merlin felt his stomach drop and his blood turn cold - his worst fears were happening. He stood, frozen, two pairs of eyes locked on him. He sensed the sudden flurry of movement around him, but nothing registered. He's too busy coming to terms with the idea of abandoning everything - Camelot, his home, his friends, Gaius, _Arthur_ -

The sharp intake of breath pierces Merlin like a knife.

_He has to say goodbye to Arthur._

_Things could be worse,_ the warlock reasons, _I could never have known Arthur as I do. He could have found out so much earlier and everything would be different - I wouldn't get to say goodbye at all. I wouldn't have wanted to._

Time slows as strong hands grab his own and a low, hurried voice speaks to him quickly, "Merlin, we need to go. Now. Gwen can lead them off, but it won't take the guards long to find us." He huffs once at the lack of response. "I can't exactly carry you, can I, so let's get going." Merlin's head snaps to meet the blonde's gaze.  
>"We?"<p>

The warlock's mind is still moving slowly as the prince grabs his hand begins pulling him out the door and down the hallway, a quickly packed bag in his other hand. The information clicks just as they're nearing the back dungeon exit.  
>"Arthur, you can't come with me - you're the crown prince! Your life is worth a thousand of mine, if they even knew you were helping me escape, your father would -"<br>Desparate lips are pressed against his, silencing whatever argument Merlin would have made. The kiss is brief, but passionate. There's no doubt Arthur will not be swayed.  
>"I'm not leaving you." He growls, pulling away so they can keep moving. Merlin pulls back, jerking them to a stop.<p>

Arthur turns back again, clearly about to give Merlin a piece of his mind. But the warlock speaks first, his voice barely audible over the faint echoes of the warning bells in the distance.  
>Just a question.<p>

"Are you sure?"

In answer, the prince rushes back and pulls the servant into his arms for a deeper, longer kiss. In that moment, there is nothing but them. Just Arthur and Merlin, together. They stay that way until the footsteps of approaching guards can no longer be ignored, at which point they clasp hands and run.

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><p>At the last moment, as the pair have just reached the outer town's edge, does Merlin stop them once more. He pauses, then bends down and takes a small amount of soil, depositing it into his mother's locket which he always wore, day and night. He returns the locket around his neck and tucks it under his neckerchief, where it rests just beside his heart.<br>It was the only reminder of home he allowed himself. Then, the two rejoined hands and ran.  
>They didn't look back.<p>

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><p><strong>Looking at it now, this seems a perfectly logical place to end it..<br>but that's not what I had planned. And I'm one of those kind of people who likes plans. Soo, this'll probably go on quite a while longer.  
><strong>

**Again, sorry if it's jumping around too much or anything! Still getting used to this! :)**

**and I still own nothing. Unfortunately. Merlin is all BBC.**


	3. Chapter 3

**This is fluffy and warm and useless, but unfortunately it's definitely necessary because I need to get the boys moving. Stuff'll start happening soon, don't worry. it's an adventure yet.**

**If you love me, you'll review. And loving me means getting cookies. So, really...**

**Anyways. I'll be quiet now - enjoy!  
><strong>

**Disclaimer: This is me, still owning nothing. Merlin is all property of BBC.**

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><p>They run silently, far, and well into the night. Through the woods where Arthur had hunted with knights, and the countryside where Merlin had spent hours collecting herbs for Gaius; past the outlying villages, past rivers and lakes, until finally reaching Camelot's borders.<br>Their hands never let go.

They climb a final hill, so tired it takes every ounce of willpower they have to put one foot in front of the other, until they've reached it's peak. As they arrive, morning comes; bringing warmth to the darkness and giving them a proper look at the view.

It's stunning. Literally taking what little breath they have away.

The sky is painted with scarlets and pinks, oranges and burnt yellows mixing with the blues of night and the few strange stars left. The horizon stretched further than either could see, and then past that further yet. The strong sudden light past the forest line created a black silhouette against the sky, like two worlds meeting for this short moment.  
>The warm morning wind blows through Merlin's hair, a relief from the dark's bitter cold. His eyes close gently and he allows himself to, just for a moment, enjoy the feeling.<p>

The prince and the warlock stay there a minute, panting. Taking in the sight along with strong gulps of air, trying to catch their breath.

Merlin, still breathing heavily, glances over towards Arthur. The prince is staring out towards the sky, the reflection bouncing back onto his eyes, turning them a soft orange. Arthur notices Merlin's staring, and shoots him a small smile.

A stutter in heartbeat resonates through Merlin's chest and sends a glow through to his toes - funny how Arthur can still do that, even after all this time. He answers with a small grin of his own.

Glancing back towards the view, where the higher risen sun was casting the fields in a familar early morning glow, Merlin sighs. He knows this moment can't last forever. They need to decide where they were going, what decisions to make. What to do now.

He considered suggesting going to Ealdor, even just briefly, but it just wasn't logical. It would be one of the first places Uther's men would check for them, and the less his mother knew about it the safer she would be.  
>The very thought of his mother in danger shoots knives through Merlin's heart, and a sharp pang of longing strikes him. He misses home. No, that's not right. Camelot and the people there became his home long ago.<br>He misses his mother.

Arthur's voice brings Merlin back from his thoughts to the task at hand.  
>"Leaving Camelot won't stop them looking," he murmurs, turning to face the warlock. "We have to keep going on, further than ever before. We should keep heading East," his arm stretches out and points towards the sunrise. "towards Alianor's kingdom. Set up new lives, a new home," he pauses, "together."<p>

A slight blush stretches on the back of Merlin's neck at the idea of starting a new life with Arthur. He can feel his heartbeat thump irregularly, and can only hope it's not as loud as he thinks it is. Merlin gives Arthur's hand a slight squeeze in agreement, and they begin the long trek down towards the East, away from Camelot. Away from home.

But after a moment, Merlin comes to a sudden stop.  
>"East..." he mutters, his eyes suddenly distant. Arthur raises an eyebrow curiously, "Merlin? Something particularly intriguing about the direction?" The warlock snorts quietly and meets Arthur's eyes.<br>"Any chance of... could we go South? South-East, even?" The brunette looks so enthusiastic, so hopeful, Arthur can't help but grin when he answers, "Sure, it's not that big a difference. So long as we keep moving away from Camelot. But why? What's to the South?"

To the prince's surprise, the question brings a blush to Merlin's cheeks. The warlock looks away and ducks his chin, as though trying to disappear into that neckerchief of his. Arthur grins wider.  
>"<em>Mer<em>lin, what's South?"

"You'll think it's silly!"

"No, I won't."

"You will, you prat."

"_Mer_lin!"

Arthur grabs the other man's chin and forces him to face forward. Finally, Merlin sighs and mutters,  
>"I've never seen the ocean. I figure if we're going to start new lives, why not start somewhere beautiful?"<p>

An unexpected warmth spreads through Arthur, softening his smile. He glances out once again, towards the South - towards their future and answers,

"Yeah. Why not start somewhere beautiful?"

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><p>The rest of the trip, when the two aren't talking quietly or exchanging quick banter, Arthur's thoughts are full of Merlin's reaction to the ocean.<p>

The prince himself had only visited the place once, as a child, along with his father on a diplomatic trip. All he remembered was how incredibly small he felt, looking out on the neverending shore, the waves crashing in around him. Mind you, he had been quite young and quite small, but that wasn't what he meant.  
>That, and the incredible natural beauty of the sight. If Merlin wanted to start somewhere beautiful, he couldn't have picked a better place.<p>

The idea pulled a slight grin onto Arthur's face, which Merlin noted with curiousity. They've relaxed into a calm silence, both of them content to just walk side by side. They haven't stopped much throughout the day, only for short water breaks or a quick bite to eat from what little food they had packed.

This was a problem they were going to have to address, and soon -  
>They didn't have the supplies to last long. If they didn't reach a village within a few days, the knights will have to problem finding them. Or finding what would be left of them.<p>

Merlin shudders at the thought, and tries to bring his mind back to happier things.

"What's the ocean like, Arthur?"

The grin on the prince's face widens, and he looks over at his friend.

"I couldn't do it justice with words, you'll just have to wait. I know one thing for certain though, and it's that you'll love it." Arthur answers, finally bringing his walk to a stop and glances up above them towards the hazy sky. "Wait a little longer, it seems. It's nearly dark, and we'll be no good stumbling through the woods at night. Especially not with your clumsiness, Merlin, you'll just end up hurting yourself." He teases lightly, tossing the bag onto a nearby log and settling in.

Merlin follows, trying his best to help set up camp. He grabs the waterskins from the bag, they haven't drank since noon, and his heart sinks at the weight of them. They're nearly empty. There was a stream a while back, they may have to backtrack in order to stay within range of fresh waters...

As the warlock loses himself in thoughts and plans, Arthur wanders over to a clear area and starts setting up a fire. After a few failed attempts at getting a spark, he hears an approach behind him and a low voice mumur over his shoulder,

_"Forbærnan"_

A roaring, crackling fire appears before him. Arthur glances behind him in time to see the warlock's eyes fade from gold back to their natural blue. A little shocked, having never really seen Merlin use magic so publicly (for obvious reasons), Arthur smiles encouragingly. Merlin returns a smile shyly. He's clearly not used to this either. The prince cracks his grin and chuckles,

"Maybe you're useful afterall, _Mer_lin."

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><p>Arthur chucks the bones from the game they'd been eating into the woods, wiping his hands on his trousers.<p>

They had been lucky - a few minutes after Merlin had lit the fire, a rabbit had wandered into their camp and Arthur had managed to catch it. Merlin, always the girl, had been hesitant to kill it, but had been outweighed by Arthur's reason. _You're no vegetarian, Merlin, how much game have you eaten without complaint before? _Merlin had answered with the incredibly intelligent response, _But how can you kill something so cute?_

He'd stopped arguing once his stomach made an audible growl.

The prince glances over to said girly warlock from across the fire. Having finished his meal, Merlin was now trying to warm himself by the flames, alternating from holding his hands close and rubbing them together. It didn't seem to be working - Arthur could see the shivers travel through the other man from his seat feet away, almost hear his teeth chattering.

Arthur pulls himself up and wanders over to the other side, planting himself down beside the warlock. Without much thought, the blonde pulls Merlin over so he's tucked into the prince's side. He wraps a protective arm around him. Merlin instinctively curls towards the warmth, nuzzling his head into the crook of Arthur's neck.

"Thanks," the brunette murmurs, smiling contentedly despite his still chattering teeth. Arthur drapes his other arm around him, pulling Merlin in so he rested with his head on Arthur's chest. The rise and fall of Arthur's steady breath and heartbeat is calming, and the warlock can feel his eyelids grow heavy.

"Go to sleep, Merlin." the prince whispers, running his hands in absent circles on Merlin's back. The warlocks teeth stop chattering, and his stuttering breath turns even and deep. He is asleep within seconds.

Arthur allows himself a few minutes more to simply revel in the moment, in the warmth of the man curled laying on and beside him and the fire the flickered calming before them. Slowly, his eyes start to flutter close, and sleep takes him as well. His last thoughts before the darkness are of Merlin and the ocean.


	4. Chapter 4

**See, we're making our way to action bit by bit. This'll be an adventure yet.**

**This one's a little short. Just a glimpse of back home. **

**Reviews are love. enjoy!**

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><p>Camelot was dying.<p>

Miles away from where Arthur and Merlin slept peacefully, past the countryside and woods, the rivers and the lakes,  
>the city was in flames.<p>

Within a day, the castle had fallen. It was a disgrace to Uther, it's king and leader. He who had thought his city inpenetrable. The many wars and battles the kingdom had faced in the past - undefeated. Immovable. Unstoppable. He had not thought to consider an enemy within.

Morgana took the opportunity without hesatation.

She snatched the city for her own, along with the help of her sister, the sorceress Morgause. Magic had flown through the night and fought viciously and without mercy, destroying all in it's way. It burrowed its way into the minds of the brave, swaying loyalties and tainting memories. Soon she had an army bowing before her, prepared to die for her cause.  
>She and her sister brought the king to his knees, dishevelled and furious.<p>

_"You have no right to the crown!"_

He had screeched and screamed at Morgause, still oblivious.

_"No. But I do."_

She watched as the realization hit him and his eyes turned to stone. He says nothing.  
>She feels no pity for him. Not after all he's done to her kind, her people. Not after the lies.<p>

_"After all, I am your daughter."_

He has the decency to look ashamed, if only for a moment before the guards drag him away. He kicks and protests, shouting that _he is the King,_ but the witch simply turns her back. As he had turned his on her. She will hold no sympathy for the man who had lied to her all her life, all the empty promises and false stories he had told. Morgana has him thrown down below, to watch his kingdom burn from the dungeons.  
>Where he belongs.<p>

Now, the Queen of Camelot watches from her tower as the city battles below. Her eyes follow the figures of the knights of whom were loyal to Uther crash down, dying, fleeing. The cowards.

The people run, screaming. She doesn't understand why - do they not realize what she's done? She's brought them peace, freedom, given them the leader they deserve! No longer will those who are graced with the presence of magic be hunted like animals, no longer shall the innocent be slain due to prejudice and unjustified hate.  
>Uther didn't understand magic, and feared it because of that. It is easier to hate your fear than to face it.<p>

An overwhelming feeling of satisfaction surges through her. She's done it. What has always been rightfully hers, hidden and stolen away, has been returned. The throne is hers, at last!  
>Queen Morgana of Camelot. She very much likes the sound of that.<p>

The only problem was the prince.  
>A frown curves downward upon her face, obscuring her beauty, uglying it. The problem was ever present in her thoughts. She doubted he would return to the city, she knows he would not risk the life of his precious <em>Merlin<em>, but one can never be too sure.  
>Yes, it had been quite obvious, the relationship the two had developed. The sight had sickened her on many ocassions. Lord, the <em>faces <em>they made at each other...  
>Only a blind man could miss it. And Uther had always been blind to what mattered most, even if it sat in front of his nose. Or right by his side, where she had once sat.<p>

The idea of ever giving up rights to the throne for another disgusted her, and the witch could feel her lip curve up in distaste. Arthur had had the kingdom in the palm of his hand, and he threw it away. Ungrateful fool, exactly like his father. _Their_ father, she mused. She shakes her head of the idea, having long since rejected the truth. Her curls fall in front of her face, hiding it. Her eyes are slits, hatred brewing in their cores.  
>Father in blood, and blood alone.<p>

Either way, the crown prince is an issue that needs to be dealt with swiftly. She would send guards out at first light. The two men couldn't have travelled far, not by foot. She would have them take the servant boy, Merlin, to Cenred's kingdom. Morgause could deal with him there however she saw fit - so long as the boy ceased to be a problem. Morgana had to admit, Morgause's treaty with the other kingdom did make for convenience. If nothing else, they could simply kill the other king if he became bothersome.  
>As for the prince, her half-brother...<p>

She would bring him here. He would watch the city burn along side her, together.  
>Refuse, and he would burn with it.<p>

Pushing it to the back of her mind, Morgana returned her gaze towards the -_ her_ - city below. A smile curls on her lips, narrows her eyes. Her once beautiful face is now mask of evil and hatred, all traces of kindness long since vanished.

She reveled in the flames, watched them dance before her. They reflect back, the image appearing imprinted on her glassy eyes, turning them red. In these eyes,

Camelot was born again.


	5. Chapter 5

**blah. that is all.  
>No, not really. Sorry it's so late - Christmas and whatnot. Still. Blah.<strong>

**Still owning nothing. Santa clearly doesn't love me enough.  
><strong>

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><p>A low, constant thumping echoed in the distance.<p>

Merlin ignored it, content in staying in the wavering state between sleep and wake.

The sound grew louder, less easy to ignore.  
>A grimace curls over his lips, annoyed and confused by whatever could be causing the sound. Sighing, he decides it's not worth his current attention and nuzzles closer into Arthur's side. The arm around him tightens comfortably, warming Merlin. He turns and stretches, his muscles and joints popping from the movement, before curling back into the prince's arms. He could get used to this.<p>

The sound became louder, became many sounds at once, before stopping entirely and much too suddenly.

Merlin's eyes snap open only a moment before a pair of unfamiliar hands snatch around his arms and yank him upwards.

Bandits. Of all the things to find them, it would have to be bandits. Just their luck.

Startled, his eyes search frantically around him for Arthur. He sees him, throwing punches towards the men and trying quickly to grab his sword resting nearby. Always the hero. It's going to get him killed someday. And that'll kill them both. But the warlock can tell Arthur's fighting is useless; there are just too many of them. Merlin wants to send a spell to help him, but he couldn't - wouldn't - risk it. He might miss, hitting Arthur instead.

One of the men finally manages to pin Arthur down, keeping him there only by throwing his whole weight onto the prince's back. The prince who despite this is still struggling furiously. Making sure he's thoroughly incapacitated, two of the men hoist the prince up, keeping his arms pinned tight against his back. Arthur's face is red and already bruises are forming from where the men hit him. Still his eyes frantically meet Merlin's, desperate.

The hands that grabbed him have pinned the warlock's own arms harshly against his back. They tighten their grip and Merlin can't help but give a faint cry of pain - for heaven's sake, it hurt. A hard object smacks him round the back of his head, sending him tumbling down to the groud. Spots of light cloud his vision and his head rings, drowning out almost all other sound.

"Merlin!" the warlock hears Arthur yell, panic evident in the voice. That wasn't right, Arthur couldn't be panicked - Arthur doesn't panic. Doesn't get nervous, doesn't lose hope. They would get out of this, they always did.

"Arthur," he murmurs, trying in vain to calm the other man down. Merlin brings a hand to his head and it comes back red. Clutching the wound, he tries to stand but is forced back into the grip of one of the men.

"What's going on, what do you wa-" Arthur stops his shouts suddenly, finally taking the men's uniforms into account. The disgust, anger and ultimately _fear_ edge into his eyes. They were guards of Camelot. Uther's men.

Arthur's tone turns quiet, pleading, "Please. I don't know what my father has told you, but please, let us go. We will leave, never to return, what trouble is that!" his eyes meet each of the guards in turn, but all of them are empty. Hollow. Soulless.

"M'lady was very specific in her orders. You are to come with us." One of the guards spoke, his voice cold and distant. Merlin's stomach gave a lurch as he recognized the man. He had seen him, spoken to him only days before - he was a kind man, if not a little slow. But kind, none the less, his voice had been light with laughter when he spoke. But not now.

"M'lady," Arthur muttered, confused. He had only a moment to mull over the word before being forced to his feet towards the horses. After a few paces, he realized that despite the soldiers gripping his arms, he was alone.

Merlin was being pulled the other way.

"MERLIN!" Arthur yelled, forcing himself towards the other man. Another guard was brought over just to keep the prince in place. They push back and fight, Arthur's arms lashing out, smashing into anything in his way.

"Arthur," Merlin cried, fear edging into his voice, as he is dragged away from the prince.

They struggle and reach until they are nearly together, hands outstretched, searching - but the guards are too strong, and they are forced apart once again.

Arthur just keeps yelling, his voice growing more ragged and raw with each frantic scream, until a sharp smack meets the back of his head. He hears Merlin yell for him in the distance, but hears it as though listening through a great tunnel. The world seems to fade aroundh him. Arthur desparately tries to hold onto something, something real, anything -

Then it all went black.

* * *

><p>Merlin could only look on helplessly as Arthur's limp body is thrown onto the horse and taken away from him.<p>

The arms grabbing his slacken their grip slightly - clearly, the only major threat was being carried far away from them. The scrawny manservant was nothing to worry about, just tie him up and take him to god knows where.

A little over half the guards leave along with Arthur, the prince's unconcious body hanging over the back of one of the horses. He looked so _defeated,_ so unlike the man he knew, Merlin could hardly take it. He wouldn't.

The fear that had seemed to overtaken Merlin slowly edged away. Pure, untempered fury is replacing it. Burning red through his veins, it flows through him and taints his vision red. Merlin forces himself to calm down, pushes back the anger - he doesn't want to kill anyone. Well, maybe he does, but he would probably regret it in the morning. Seriously maim or injure, on the other hand...

A sharp tug pulls him from behind, "Hurry up, boy," a guard grunts, trying to pull Merlin towards the horses once again. He hears the guards muttering to each other, seemingly attempting to be subtle and quiet, but failing miserably. Merlin hears some mention of Cenred's kingdom and castle before he snaps.

Wrenching himself from the captor's grasp, he spins around and mutters, "_Forbærnen firgenholt"_ - a spell to break the branch off the old tree above most of the men gathered by the horses. It falls quickly with a pounding crash, the men falling to the ground unconcious before they could even utter a word. The horses rear, squealing in surprise from the sudden movement, and charge away from the camp.

Wind whistles past his left ear and Merlin ducks swiftly to narrowly avoid the fist aimed at his head. Dodging another attempt, his eyes glow a molten gold and he outstretches his hand, _"Hleap on bæc!_" The two guards go flying and Merlin hears in the distance a satisfying _crunch_ as they land.

A sword cuts past him, grazing his arm. The warlock turns and glares at the last guard left, practically growling out the spell, "_Hætende_". He watches with satisfaction as the sword glows red and hot, forcing the guard to let go with a yell before falling back and smacking his head on a tree. Not particuarily graceful, but effective. The guard slumps down the tree, unconcious. Merlin nods once and glaces around him.

Maybe helpless wasn't the right word.

The warlock stood tall, panting, his eyes fading back to their natural blue, as he surveyed his work around him. Bodies laid strewn and mangled, but only slightly. The men would recover, just not anytime soon. Merlin sighed. It would have to do. Afterall, these were still men of Camelot - these were still Arthur's men. Or they would be.

As soon as Merlin figured out what was going on. The guards had said Lady, not King - what had happened to Uther? Hell, what had happened to Camelot?

A sinking, churning feeling stirred inside him, an edge returning to his system. Merlin would figure this out, one way or another. First things first, though - towards Camelot. Towards Arthur. The warlock turned on his heels, sparing no glance for the unconcious men behind him, and ran into the depths of the woods. Alone once again.


	6. Chapter 6

**Late, sorry. My baaaad. In my defense, Fanfiction was being terribly dumb and not letting me login for like, a week.**

**You bet your sweet bippy I'm mixing seasons. This is third/fourth/everything good in the world. Just... stretch your imagination a little, folks.**

**And don't think I don't see you out there. Favourites, Alerts - don't get me wrong, people, I love you all so dearly for them. But as a starting out writer, what I'd really love is feedback. What do you like? Not like? Should Morgana just die off and Uther turn into magical rainbow lollipop butterlies whilst Merlin and Arthur skip happily into the sunset? Tell me! :D**

**Also - I've a lack of spell check combined with a strong dislike of reading my own writing more than once. So I apologize for any spelling/grammatical errors that are sure to be tucked in each chapter.**

**Anyways. I'll be quiet now. Enjoy!**

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><p>The leaves crunch and twigs break beneath his feet despite Merlin's efforts to remain silent through the woods. Pausing only to mutter a spell to lighten his feet, he glances behind him briefly. He's been running for a little over an hour, making his slow way back towards Camelot in a loop, so far encountering no one.<p>

Merlin sighs, and sets forward again. He curses inwardly at his blasted sense of direction - he'd realized after about twenty minutes of solid sprinting that he had been going the wrong way.

He considered calling Kilgharrah, but decided against it. Riding a dragon into Camelot's gates might not be the subtlest way to get in. And that's just it - it wasn't so much about getting _in _ to Camelot as it was getting Arthur _out._

Panting, the warlock takes in his surroundings as he slows to a walk. He had long since left forest that had ever been familiar, and was left with only the dark, old oaks that surrounded the area. The leaves above are so thickly layered, only bare whisps of sunlight can fight through to reach the earth. Even then, their colour is dyed an eerie green hue, mixed with it's natural pale yellow. It's far too cold for noon. The ground appears to long since abandoned hope at growing anything, and is just a pale base of dirt and stones.

A breeze flows through the path, sending shivers down the warlock's spine. Even after it's passed, the goosebumps remain. Something feels wrong. Merlin pauses and listens for a bird song, or a scurrying animal or anything, really.

But there's only silence.

Then the snap of a twig.

The warlock spins towards the source of the noise in a heartbeat, arm outstretched in another, his eyes already a molten gold in preparation for what magic he chooses to call upon.

He sucks in a breath, ready to throw whoever appears far off their feet, or perhaps break a branch from the trees above, or maybe just a good old windstorm -

A flash of red cuts off the warlock's train of thought. A form stumbles out from behind the leaves and body of a great oak and nearly collapses in front of him. The Camelot insignia printed neatly on the crimson cloak surrounding the figure, dark hair matted and dirty, skin riddled with cuts, bruises and caked with blood, holding an injured arm close to his chest -

Merlin has caught the man before even thinking about it, his eyes fading back to their natural colour. The breath he had originally inhaled to cast a spell instead coming out in a loud, surprised call,

"Gwaine!"

Dark eyes rise to meet his, and a tired, pained grin fills the knight's face,

"Hello, Merlin."

* * *

><p>A bright light shines in front of closed eyes, turning his vision red. Arthur jolts awake and gasps at the sharp pain in his head. He blinks furiously, trying to adjust to the light quickly as to better take in his surroundings.<p>

His head throbs, a constant drumming, but he otherwise feels unharmed. A little jostled, certainly disoriented, but physically - fine.

Until he remembers. Then anxiety and guilt, as well as an overcompassing feeling of fear, threaten to overwhelm him. Merlin. They've taken Merlin, whoever _they_ are, to God knows where to do God knows what - and he swears, if they dare touch him, if Arthur sees Merlin hurt in any way, there will be hell to pay. And that's coming from the bloody prince of Camelot.

Finally, the area comes into view. The bright light the prince had been fighting was merely the sun - he was situated directly facing a window.

He groans quietly and stretches, joints popping in protest before settling comfortably into place. Arthur shifts around the bed, moving the sheets off and throwing his legs over the side. He shakes his head, letting blond locks fall in front of his eyes.

Vague words and memories flow through his thoughts, tangled phrases from his unconscious like _Return him to Camelot,_ and _Deal with ... Cenred, _and most prominantly, _M'lady._ They had kept repeating M'lady. But if they were returning to Camelot, surely he would be brought before his father?

Unless. A frown turns down Arthur's lips as he contemplates the idea. Camelot.. was safe, wasn't it? He pulls himself forward to better see through the window - to ease his worried thoughts, put this nonsense to rest - and is greeted by horror. The prince's heart leaps to his throat as he takes in the sight before him.

Bodies laid strewn and desecrated all around the lower town while others lay injured and groaning. Buildings were collapsed, wood and stone scattered as though blown to pieces. Fires decorated rooftops, crows circled above awaiting their next meal, and a clear aura of despair hung in the air.

It was hell.

The air left Arthur in a gust, leaving him gasping for breath that offered no relief. What had happened, what was going on, questions and terror roam freely through his mind, his panic quickly building and threatening to boil over -

A smooth, familiar voice greets him lowly from behind.

"Hello, Arthur. Or should I say, _brother._"

* * *

><p>"Gwaine, what - what are you doing here? What's going on - holy hell, you're injured!" Merlin quickly ushers the knight to the ground, carefully avoiding sitting him on any of his more prominant wounds. Wincing, Gwaine finally collapses on the forest floor, panting heavily as though having run a great distance. A small smile returns as the knight glances back towards the warlock.<p>

"Let me tell you, Merlin, you're a sight for sore eyes. Thought I'd never see you again, not after you ran off with the princess and everything else."

Merlin's eyes darken with concern. He pulls the cloak from his friend's shoulder and gasps quietly - the injuries were more extensive then he had thought. The warlock nods his head curtly towards Gwaine's mangled arm and the knight holds it out obligingly. Merlin takes it, frowning as even his slightest touch causes the other man to grimace, and holds it gingerly. From what he could tell, it was broken in two places and there was at least one deep gash going through nearly to bone.

"What do you mean, everything else?" He muttered, assessing the rest of Gwaine's injuries before getting to work. "_Þurhhæle dolgbenn," _Merlin murmured, watching for the knight's reaction wearily. Not that Gwaine was in any condition to stop him at this point. "_Þurhhæle licsar min."_

The warlock watches as his friend's eyes widen. He could almost see the gears turning and clicking into place. The knight pauses, turning to look Merlin full on, his face unreadable. There's a tense moment where Merlin fears the other man will turn to look at him in hatred, disgust, all the things he feared Arthur would look at him with - but Gwaine just breaks into a wide smile and pulls the warlock in for a one armed hug.

"I always knew there was something about you, Merlin." The warlock grins back, thoroughly relieved by his friend's reaction. He nearly laughs from the break in tension, but holds himself back. The knight flexes his newly healed arm before turning back to face him, suddenly serious. His eyes are dark.

"When you and Arthur disappeared, Uther raised hell," Gwaine's voice is low, his eyes not wavering from Merlin's, "He wasn't going to let heaven or earth get between him and finding you two. Unfortunately, something bigger than both got in his way. A traitor lurked in our midst, biding their time."

The knight pauses, his gaze dropping to the ground. His eyes are suddenly burning, dark brown flames of fury.

"Morgana," he cursed.

Merlin recoiled. He'd suspected something had gone awry in Camelot, but never would he have imagined Morgana being able to overtake Uther in the course of just a few days - he hadn't thought it possible!

"The witch Morgause appeared with an army but the day you left," Gwaine continued, his eyes fixated on the dirt below, "Morgana revealed herself to Uther, confronted him - apparently she's his daughter."

Merlin nodded and did his best to look properly shocked for the moment, for Gwaine - it wouldn't do well for him to be all knowing at this point.

The knight chuckled darkly and threw his head up towards the sky. "Then it all went down from there. She took the crown, claiming it as her birth right; which, if she tells the truth, it is. The city was overrun, bodies dropped like flies from unseen reasons - any who opposed the queen were killed on the spot. When the knights would not pledge their alleigence, she - she turned on the people. So many innocent families, slaughtered, and for what?"

The warlock turned and looked away, hiding his face in shame.

It was his fault.

If he hadn't let Arthur convince him to leave, Morgana wouldn't have taken the throne - so many would still be alive, families not torn apart, hearts not broken. They could have stopped her.

He could have stopped this.

Merlin catches a single tear running down his cheek and catches it quickly, thankful for the dark of the trees. He turns back to Gwaine, questions still burning in his throat,

"How did you escape? What of the other knights, Leon, Lancelot -?"

"I know not. Last I had seen, they were all thrown into the dungeons along with the king. Mind you, I escaped, didn't I? Sneaked past her guards, knocked three of them out. Never did like a fair fight. Maybe some of the others got out the same way."

Merlin nodded briefly, thinking. His mind whirrled and spun trying to come up with something.

"Alright. Ok, Gwaine. I need you to go - keep going South, find the outlying towns, gather as many as you can. Try to contact anyone who you think would help, call in all your favors."

The knight nodded, albeit a little taken aback from usually quiet, calm Merlin's sudden fierce determination. "We'll leave in the morning, then." He responded, rising from the ground to begin preparing camp.

But the warlock just shook his head, smiling grimly. "I'm not - I can't - come with you, Gwaine."

Startled, a look of concern and confusion covers the other man's face. "But where will you go, then?"

Merlin squares his shoulders and narrows his eyes. "Camelot."

"You're bloody crazy, Merlin, have you listened to a thing I've said?" Gwaine shouted, suddenly furious, "They'll kill you before you've taken a step! I won't let you go!"

"Gwaine, please," the warlock whispers pleadingly, "Arthur's in there. I can't just leave him, or Camelot. It's my destiny to protect both, I can't just abandon that."

The knight holds very still, his eyes locked into Merlin's. The latter is careful not to let his gaze, or his resolve, waver. They stay frozen a minute before Gwaine lets out a broken laugh and looks away.

"Merlin," he whispers, eyes landing everywhere but the warlock. The knight looks like he's about to say something, but catches himself and closes his mouth quickly. He glances over and gives the warlock a small, forced smile.

"Just be safe, then."

Merlin smiles back and nods, turning back towards Camelot, intent on getting there within the next two days. He would have to run most of the way, and keep close to the river as a source of water -

"Merlin," Gwaine's weak voice suddenly calls out from behind him and Merlin turns back to respond, but before he can a pair of chapped, yet soft unfamiliar lips are pressed to his.

The kiss only lasts a moment before the knight pulls away, smiling sadly. The warlock is blushing terribly, stuttering, trying to explain. Gwaine just chuckles,

"I know you don't feel the same way, Merlin. I'm not trying to take you from the princess or anything like that. I just... I just needed to let you know. Please, Merlin, just be safe. If not for me, for him."

He lets his hand linger on the warlock's cheek a moment longer before pulling away. With that the knight turned and disappeared into the thick of the woods, his crimson Camelot cloak trailing behind him.

Sadness for his friend wells up in the warlock's chest, regret for a love that could never be, and it's with a heavy heart he turns towards Camelot.

Towards Arthur.


	7. Chapter 7

_"Hello, Arthur. Or should I say, brother."_

Arthur spun around quick as he could, his blood turning to ice in his veins. Denial, confusion and a whole lot of other emotions crash over him like a wave. The voice, who she is, what she's saying, nothing is making any sense-

His eyes lock onto a familiar blue-green pair that he would know anywhere. He had watched her grow up, known her almost as long as he had known himself, but even as she changed her eyes had remained the same. Warm, kind, with a little bit of laughter always threatening to break through. The eyes of his friend.

But now they were cold.

Arthur forced himself to keep his composure, to fully understand the situation before jumping to any conclusions. She just kept watching him, unmoving, a small smirk narrowing her eyes.

Finally, he said, "Morgana. What's going on."

A statement, not a question. Arthur was smarter then he was sure some people took him to be; he had a good enough guess as to what had happened, he would just very much like not to believe it. If he was lucky, if he was very, very lucky, he would be wrong.

Her smile grew into something he would never have recognized; gone were the sweet, genuine smiles of friend. Instead the image distorted and twisted her familiar, beautiful face, turning it into something so much darker. Something uglier, that had nothing to do with appearance. She raised a hand, decorated with silver and black lace from the sleeves of her midnight dark dress, and indicated the window with a flick of the wrist.

"I took what was rightfully mine," Morgana said, her eyes reveling in the light, "Took it in the name of justice, to restore magic to these lands and punish those who have opressed it."

Her eyes shifted to meet his.

"Those like our father."

Arthur recoiled at the words, letting their full meaning sink in. Memories flood back to him: meeting Morgana as a child; their similar stuborness and determination getting them into all kinds of fights; years of earning friendship and trust; conversations he would catch his father having, only to be cut off abruptly when he entered the room; a trickle of doubt; years of lies and deceit and -

He shook his head furiously, ashamed that he could not meet Morgana's satisfied eye.

"You realize it now, do you, brother? Everything he hid from us, the false stories and lies," Her eyes flashed dangerously, echoes of fire, "The lives he stole, ruined out of childish fright and fear of the unusual..." Morgana spits the words out like poison, more to herself then to Arthur, who is now watching her carefully as she paces the room.

She spins to face him, a small, hopeful smile growing on her face, "But we could do so much more, Arthur. Think of what Camelot could be if we worked together," Passion seeps into her words, and Arthur can tell that though the words are twisted, she truly believes in what she is saying, "Magic free again, Arthur, could you imagine it? It's not what Uther has said, you must know that - it is so much more. It is kindness and healing and _beauty_, brother, please. You must see that." She pleads with him, so badly wanting him to understand.

For an instant it's almost as though the old Morgana has come back to him. Arthur watches her sadly as her heaving chest slows, all her excitement and enthusiasm being pulled back inside her where she can mask it with a calm, cold shell.

He chose his words carefully, for he did care for her still, despite what Morgana has done,

"What I see out there is far from beautiful, Morgana. I do believe magic to have the ability to be kind, true, loyal," he paused, "and so beautiful. Of course I do. But what you're doing is simply murder."

Morgana's eyes turn dark, her hopeful expression sinking into one of anger and disgust.

Arthur was careful to look her straight on, hoping she would understand what he was trying to say.

"Perhaps you're not as unlike Uther as you would like to be."

Shock fills her face for a moment, untainted by any baser emotions, and for an almost inpercievable second she looks hurt. But Morgana covers it quickly, the cold and calculating mask replacing what deep true emotion she hid underneath.

She raises her head high as to better look down on her half-brother. Her words come through colder than frigid ice, filled with as much venom as she could muster,

"I see you've made your decision. Guards!" She called, two men in black tunics trotting in promptly, bowing low. She paused a moment before she speaking again.

"Take the _prince_ to a room more suited for a man of his," She sneered,"_status_. The dungeons ought to do well enough for what purpose we require."

The guards marched over, pulling Arthur up sharply, keeping a strong grasp on his arms as they pull him out. Before they leave, one turns and asks, "What purpose is that, M'lady?"

She smiled, and the expression sent a shiver unbidden down Arthur's spine. But he would not look away. He would not be afraid.

"As he has done to so many of my kind, so many of the innocent, and as his precious Camelot does now - to burn him."

And they dragged him from the room.

* * *

><p>Morning turned to noon, then to evening, then to dusk. The cycle continued, repeated.<p>

The woods got dark a whole lot faster than Merlin would like. He had separated from Gwaine almost two days ago, and it still seemed he was no more closer to Camelot even after all this running.

It soon became dark enough that even with his spells, Merlin continuously tripped over his own feet and could barely see his hand in front of his face. Sighing in resignation, he allowed himself to sit and rest.

He hated letting himself rest; everytime he stopped, thoughts of Arthur plagued him. What would Morgana do, what has she done to him upon his arrival? Surely she would keep him reasonably safe - they were half-siblings, after all, that had to mean something? Or maybe it meant too much, perhaps she considered him a threat to her name to the throne, and she had killed him already and Merlin would be alone again -

No. Stop it. He shook his head to empty them of the thoughts, turning back to his task at hand. All the while during his running, the warlock had been going through every spell and incantation he knew that might help him get Arthur back.

There was one, he knew it. Well, he knew it _existed_, but he could not for the life of him remember how to get the bloody transport spell to work. It had something to do with the person's name, their home, maybe?

Merlin sighed again, propping his back up against a tree trunk, trying to get mildly comfortable enough to get to sleep. He hadn't slept much since - since that day. Sleep didn't feel right without Arthur's arms around him.

He closed his eyes, and all within the darkness were spells and magic, trying to tell him something, trying to help him remember -

His eyes flew open as a memory hit him.

_"Gaius, what's this book for?"_

_The old physician glanced over from above whatever concoction he was working on brewing, pausing a moment to register which book Merlin was indicating._

_"Spells for housewives, Merlin," he chuckled, "Little things like cleaning spells, ways to watch over children and get them home for dinner, check on drunk husbands, things like that."_

_Merlin had shrugged and grinned, pocketing the book - he thought perhaps he would find a more efficent spell to clean Arthur's armour with, or if he was lucky a spell that could muck out stables..._

But there had been something else in that book besides cleaning tricks.

A way to bring someone home safely.

* * *

><p>Arthur could barely contain the screams anymore - it had just been going on too long. Not much after he had been thrown into the dungeons the day before, Morgana had re-appeared to fufill her promise.<p>

He was burning.

A combination of spells, incantations, and more... brutal methods were used on the former prince. Sometimes, it would be as though he were burning from the inside; as though his very blood had turned to fire and was flowing through him wild, determined to destroy any and everything it met.

Sometimes, when Morgana would grow bored, they went to more 'tried-and-true' methods. More violent. A series of brands now decorated Arthur's back and stomach, each time it touched burning away flesh, leaving a dark odour that permeated every breath. She didn't seem to mind the stench. She almost enjoyed it. His skin, black and red, curled around the brand - a mocking image on the Camelot crest slashed with a large 'X'.

He stood in the dungeons, his arms hung above his head high enough to pull at his joints uncomfortably, forcing him to rise every so often off his heels to relieve the discomfort. He was naked save for his trousers, his bare chest heaving as he panted, uncontrollable pain raging through his system.

Sweat and blood covered his brow, his eyes fogged and dark from the continuous stream of pain and fire that existed all around him until he was sure there was nothing left in the world but sheer agony.

She pressed another brand into his side, watching with eyes like a small child intrigued by something simple, and Arthur forced himself to remain silent. He clenched his hands into tight fists as they hung shackled above his head, nails digging deeper into his palm, drawing blood that trickled down his arm.

But he remained silent.

He would not be afraid.

And he continued to burn.

* * *

><p>Merlin wiped his brow, standing back to admire his handiwork. The intricate circle, drawn with the crude instrument of a simple stick, matched the image from the book in his head perfectly, down to the last inch.<p>

He had almost leapt out of his skin once he had finally remembered the proper spell - one mothers used to bring their children home from their wanderings or adventures.

"Draw the circle as shown in the image, careful it stands a meter wide and on flat ground," he muttered to himself, reciting the instructions for the umpteenth time in the past five minutes, "If not at original home, place article from the participant's home into centre of circle and chant incantation."

Merlin groped around under his neckerchief until his hand grasped what he was looking for - his mother's locket. He fumbled a moment with the clasp before it released, dropping into his hand.

Careful not to smudge the dirt circle, Merlin emptied the contents of the locket into the centre of the circle, where it indicated to be.

Soil from Camelot. The dirt he had collected the night he and Arthur had run away; his only reminder of that life. He hoped that it would be enough; that the spell would not mess up what with Arthur currently being _in _Camelot, but for heaven's sake he had to try.

The warlock took a deep breath, raising his hand and closing his eyes to focus. When he re-opened them, they glowed gold.

_"Cymþ, éðel bæcern geþonc heortlufe"_

He held the breath after he uttered the words, waiting eagerly and nervously, desparately hoping the spell was successful -

A moment passed.

And another.

And another.

Merlin couldn't help it. Tears of frustration, anger and fear welled up behind his eyes as he dropped his hand to his side. His head dropped until his chin hit his chest, and he could feel the need to collapse threatening to overtake hiim. It was repressed as angry energy flowed through him and he began to pace the forest floor.

Seeing the failed drawn circle pushed his anger to the edge, and the warlock stormed over to kick it into dust. But the moment his foot touched the edge, a great bright light glowed from in front of him. It grew brighter and brighter until it filled his entire vision and there was nothing else -

Then Arthur was there - dishevelled, injured, barely concious Arthur. The prince began to fall forward and Merlin blessed his unusually sharp reflexes as his arms instinctivly reached out to catch him.

The two collapsed to the ground together, Arthur pulling back and glancing at the warlock through half-lidded eyes,

"Merlin?" His voice is a raw, hoarse whisper, barely audible.

Merlin feels the tears falling, but now they're tears of relief. He pulls the prince close to his chest, wrapping his arms around him tightly. He whispers back, his lips right at Arthur's ear,

"My turn to save you, prat. You knew I would."

Merlin felt the last bits of Arthur's strength leave him as the other man collapsed entirely against the warlock's chest. But before he went under, the prince murmurs quietly,

"Of course I did."

* * *

><p><strong>Hullooo.<strong>

**I use an old english translator for most of my spells; that and the official Merlin site.**

_**Cymþ, éðel bæcern geþonc heortlufe **_**means roughly 'come, home is where the heart is'**


	8. Chapter 8

**Sorry, sorry - Exams and Summatives combined with the face that the world hates me makes for late updates.**

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><p>Arthur's eyes flickered as his conciousness wavered between awake and not. He was vaguely aware of the gentle arms around him, lowering him carefully to the ground, and of the lips that continuously pressed themselves to his forhead, his nose, his cheeks, and how right that felt.<p>

He heard the man hiss and the arms pull away before fingers brushed his chest and side, barely touching. Pain shot through him like renewed fire, searing his limbs and forcing a moan from his lips. The hand instantly withdrew.

Arthur forced his eyes open through sheer will, glancing around slowly in a daze before finally meeting Merlin's.

Merlin.

The warlock smiled gently, bringing his hand up to cradle the prince's face. Arthur leaned into the touch, the warmth a comfort in the darkness. Merlin leaned down and pressed their foreheads together, shutting his eyes. Arthur relaxed, sinking into unconciousness, when a new sharp jolt of pain went through his side.

He gasped and rolled to his knees, Merlin jumping back in surprise. The prince clutched at his side, his fingers stumbling over ripped and curled flesh, raw in places, missing entirely in others. His eyes screwed shut in pain, his teeth clenched against the roar of flames shooting through him - Arthur fell back, eyes rolling, exhausted.

A hand clasped his tightly, pulling it to his chest.

"Arthur?"

The prince forced his eyes open again, searching until he met Merlin's. The warlock looked scared, but resolved. "I need you to tell me what happened," he murmured, "so I know how to fix you."

Arthur wanted to look away; he didn't want to tell Merlin what happened, he wanted to forget. But... it was Merlin. He would help him through this, like he always helped him.

"She," the raw, coarse voice that came from his own throat surprised him into silence for a moment, before he continued and said, "She burnt me. Magic and ... not."

The warlock's eyes darkened and for this first time Arthur saw the dangerous side to him. The powerful warlock of legend had taken over the prince's beloved, goofy manservant. His eyes were ice and fire, his jaw locked in a firm determination, shoulders back and hands clenched tight. And it scared him. Arthur reached up an arm that felt as though it were made of stone, and rested it on the other man's cheek. The warlock's eyes softened, and he covered Arthur's hand with his own.

The pain ebbed slightly from Arthur's skin, and the prince was able to relax slightly. They both closed their eyes and let the relief of safety wash over them, just for a moment. Eventually Merlin brought his hand away so it rested a hairswidth above Arthur's chest.

"_Waise heill," _he murmured, his eyes flashing gold. The prince felt a strange tingling soar through his skin, and the pain in his chest vanished. He heard Merlin faintly repeat the words, his hands working their way around his side, each time the pain easing away a little more. It was as though cool water was flowing through his veins, chasing away the fire.

The warlock stopped, and Arthur grasped his hand tighter. Their eyes met, and the prince smiled in thanks.

"I can fix the skin, remove the pain," Merlin said, "but I can't do anything about the markings. They're laced with magic, enchanted right into your very skin. She's used an spell to make them permenant. But..."

His eyes went back down to Arthur's skin where the prince knew Camelot's defaced crest lay imprinted a hundred times, each a mockery to everything he believed in. To his surprise, the warlock smiled, and he brought his hand back to Arthur's side, resting it there.

"Maybe..."

Merlin's eyes glowed, and Arthur felt the most peculiar sensation washing through him - his skin tingled and singed, the feeling unfamiliar but not unpleasant. Merlin's fingers danced on his skin in seemingly random patterns, at times moving quickly, other times slow and deliberate. All the while his eyes glowed a molten gold.

The warlock kept this up a moment longer before withdrawing his hand and sighing, his eyes fading back to their striking blue. Arthur instantly grabbed Merlin's hand before he could draw it away, the warlock just smiling tiredly.

The prince glanced down in what he considered an attempt to be subtle, to see what Merlin had done to him, and let out a low gasp.

In place of the number of Camelot crests that had mutilated his skin, a proud dragon stood. Its jaws were open in a roar on his chest, wings stretching out all around his side onto Arthur's back. His skin, instead of burnt and singed black as the markings had been, was a deep golden shade, making his skin appear as though it glowed. It was, and there was really no other word for it, beautiful. No, there was one other word. It was magical.

Arthur felt Meriln's hand tighten around his own, stress eminating from the warlock's nearby body. Puzzled, the prince tried to understand why - and when he did, chuckled. Merlin was afraid Arthur didn't like it.

The prince forced his eyes away from the beast curled around his skin to the warlock by his side. Their eyes met, and Arthur let himself break into a smile. He pulled himself up so he was sitting, level with the other man. Then he grabbed Merlin by the back of his neck and pulled him in, pressing their lips together.

Arthur tried his best to convey his relief, gratitude and love all in the one kiss. Their lips moved together, and Merlin snaked his arms around the prince's waist, pulling them closer. Arthur brought his other hand up so it rested on the small of Merlin's back, his other hand wrapped in the raven hair curled at the nape of the warlock's neck.

Eventually they separated, cheeks flushed and panting. They left their foreheads touching as they rested, eyes closed, just for a moment. Arthur smiled, and Merlin responded in kind. Arthur leaned forward and kissed the warlock once, twice more before laughing and falling back onto the forest floor.

Merlin chuckled lightly before following, curling into the prince's arms.

* * *

><p>"We have to go back."<p>

Arthur opened his eyes as Merlin's voice reverberated on his chest. They laid curled together at the base of the fire, (Meriln, once settled into the prince's arms, had allowed neither of them to get up and had lit the fire by magic. Arthur had no complaints.) content and weary. Arthur had, at Merlin's blushing insistance, pulled on one of the extra shirts the warlock had brought. The prince had had no problem showing off his new markings, but apparently his lack-of-clothing had embarassed the warlock. Arthur had just smirked.

The prince unconciously tightened his grip around the other man, pulling him in closer. His other arm was tucked behind his head as a makeshift pillow. Arthur leaned forward, pressing his lips to Merlin's hair.

"I know. We can't let her continue like this."

The warlock just nodded, tucking himself so his chin rested on Arthur's chest, his eyes looking up. They were full of sadness. "So she's really gone? Morgana."

Arthur looked away, his throat suddenly constricted, his eyes tight. He nodded once, briskly. "Yeah. The Morgana we knew... if she is there, it's buried far too deep for me to see. I don't - I don't think we'll see her again. Not the way we knew her."

"Oh, Arthur..." Merlin murmured, reaching up to press his lips to the prince's wet eyes. Arthur just pulled the warlock in tighter, holding him close. Merlin tucked his head underneath the prince's chin, sighing.

A branch snapped in the clearing and an owl hooted in surprise. They hadn't realized it, but the area had gone unusually quiet.

Arthur was instantly on his feet, pulling Merlin behind him. He glanced around frantically for his sword - his stomach dropped when he realized he didn't have one. It paled him to think of himself as defenseless; not that he couldn't hold his own in a fight, but without a weapon it would be a little one sided.

"Arthur!" Merlin called from behind him. Arthur spun around, torn; not wanting to take his eyes off of where the sound had come from while at the same time needing to check on Merlin. The warlock walked up beside him, tossing him a large branch. Arthur caught it easily, spinning it around a few times in front of him. It was no sword, but it was better than nothing. He would take whatever he could get to fight off Morgana's men. He nodded his thanks, returning to face forward.

More branches cracked and snapped, bushes rustled and shuffled, growing louder and closer as the prince and warlock grew more and more tense until finally the first figure emerged from the darkeness -

Merlin sighed in exhasperation, throwing his hands up in the air. "God, Gwaine, again! You're gonna give me a bleedin' heart attack one of these days!"

The brunette knight, looking slightly less dishevelled than last Merlin had seen him, leaped forward with a large grin and shout. "Merlin! You're alright! And you, princess!"

Arthur, who had seemingly been in shock until then, started forward with a jolt, his face breaking into a smile to match Gwaine's.

"Gwaine! You're alive! What - what are you doing here?" The knight and prince grasped forearms, giving eachother manly pats on the back and grinning broadly. Gwaine quickly moved over to embrace Merlin tightly before answering the prince.

"Acting on Merlin's orders," Gwaine released the blushing warlock and held him at arms length, meeting eyes with Arthur. "Found Leon and Percival, as well as Elyan outside of Camelot." Gwaine frowned, "No sign of Lancelot. We've been rounding up any and all able-bodied men in the villages, and they're all ready to fight for the cause."

Arthur met Merlin's eye and raised an eyebrow in question. The warlock just shrugged and said, "I didn't know when I'd get you back, so I had Gwaine make contingency plans in case the spell didn't work," Arthur frowned - he had meant to ask Merlin about that spell, anyways - but Merlin continued, "Good idea in the end; we'll need the forces to take down Morgana and Morgause."

Gwaine nodded, looking from Merlin to Arthur and back again. "So.. what's the plan?"

Arthur opened his mouth to speak, but Merlin cut him off, "We charge the city tomorrow at dawn. That will give you enough time to assemble the men and arrive at the gates, right?" Gwaine nodded. The prince just eyed Merlin with contained amusement as the warlock continued to give orders, "Good. Arthur and I will meet you there; we'll leave leading the army to you and the other knights until you find us again."

Gwaine took the orders with unexpected calm, accepting Merlin's newfound authority, surprising Arthur; he would have expected the knight to laugh at the manservent, he didn't even know about Merlin's powers -

"You gonna magic yourselves in, then?" The knight grinned.

Arthur turned to face a properly sheepish Merlin, his voice incredulous, "_Gwaine _knew?" Merlin held his hands up in a peacemaking gesture, saying quickly, "He found out after, after! I only told you!" This seemed to appease Arthur somewhat, and the warlock continued to blabber on, "Well, Gaius knew, obviously, and Freya, Gwen was there when I told you, oh, and Lancelot knew..."

Arthur spluttered and choked in indigation, but Merlin just ignored him and turned back to Gwaine. "Thank you, really. For everything."

The knight smiled, but it looked sad. "Anytime. I guess I'll head off, get the men ready." He leaned forward, past the still trying-to-understand-how-everyone-else-knew-about-Merlin prince, to kiss Merlin's cheek quickly.

This didn't do much to help the already red prince. Merlin's ears turned beet red as Gwaine pulled back, grinning cheekily. Chuckling, he looked to Arthur, "Sorry, sire. Couldn't resist. See you two soon, then!"

He waved cheerily and disappeared back the way he came.

Arthur narrowed his eyes and turned to the warlock, muttering dangerously, "_Mer_lin, what was that, exactly?"

Merlin's voice jumped an octave as he moved around, flustered, "Nothing, Arthur!"

The prince just rolled his eyes, long since past accepting the warlock's eccentricities. He followed lazily as Merlin set forward in the opposite direction as Gwaine had left. Matching Merlin's pace so they were side by side, Arthur said, "So how are we getting there before the rest of them, anyways?"

The warlock grinned what Arthur thought was a little evily, turning so he could see the prince. "Friend of mine'll give us a lift. Much quicker than horses, but he's a bit more annoying. Talks a lot about destiny."

Merlin just laughed as a look of worry crossed the Prince's face. "It'll be fine!"

* * *

><p><strong>Yeah, the spell is from Eragon. I couldn't find a healing spell from the show, and I didn't like any of the translations! And Eragon is great. So shh.<br>**


	9. Chapter 9

The ground was soft beneath their boots, Arthur noted, as the two treked through the wood in search of a clearing Merlin was yet to deem suitable. They stopped as they came across another, Arthur counted it as the third, but after a moment the warlock just shook his head and started forward again. The prince groaned,

"_Mer_lin, what exactly are you looking for?"

"We need a big clearing."

"This is plenty of space!"

"Not enough."

Arthur's eyes popped and he felt that same twinge of controlled panic in the bottom of his stomach he had the first time Merlin had mentioned this 'friend'. The warlock had neglected to mention before that this 'friend' was a massive, ancient dragon, whom Merlin constantly consulted in his underground prison. The same one Uther had imprisoned for years and would, in all likelyhood, hold a well-earned grudge against the name Pendragon.

It was also the dragon that Merlin had _released_, and upon his freedom the dragon who had attempted to completely destroy Camelot and its inhabitants in what Merlin called, 'a fit of slight shortsightedness'. The warlock assured him that the great dragon would do them no harm, but the prince was too panicked to hear him.

This didn't bode well for Arthur's whole liking of staying-alive-past-sundown.

The prince gulped and tried to lighten the knot in his stomach, "How are you going to call him, anyways? Whistle, like a dog?"

Merlin rolled his eyes, "Don't be thick. Sometimes you act as dumb as you look."

"Then I can never be anything but brilliant."

Merlin chortled quietly, muttering to the prince, "Prat."

Arthur laughed, quickening his stride to match Merlin's. They walked in amiable silence a moment before the prince asked again, "Honestly, though, how do you contact him?"

The warlock shrugged, "Ancient language; wherever he is, he'll hear me and answer. He has to."

"Has to? Why?"

Merlin's eyes tightened almost impercievably, and his voice was subdued as he replied, "All dragons need answer the Dragonlord's call."

Arthur stopped. His mind was both inexplicably frozen and racing to understand the new information it had recieved. Merlin was a Dragonlord. They had previously left Camelot on a dangerous mission to find the _last _Dragonlord. He had died, in Merlin's arms no less, on their voyage home. _It passes from father to son,_ he realized. Then he noted, _Rather like kingship._

The prince turned to face the warlock, but his back was turned. Arthur spoke softly, "Balinor was your father." He saw Merlin duck his head once in affirmation. The prince sighed and reached out to place a comforting hand on the other man's shoulder.

"I'm sorry."

He tried to put everything he felt into those words, and hopefully Merlin would understand he _was _sorry, not just for Balinor's death, but for everything. For the circumstances leading up to it, for never knowing his own father, for being part of what had kept them apart.

Merlin nodded again, and stepped forward to continue walking. Arthur saw him pull a hand up to wipe at his face and felt a pang in his own chest that he couldn't do more to comfort the warlock. He couldn't imagine how it felt having someone he loved so dearly die in his arms.

He waited a moment, then pulled forward to walk along side Merlin, nudging him with his shoulder. "Go on, then," said the prince, "Call this beast of yours."

"Don't call him that where he can hear you," The warlock muttered, but his lips turned up at the corners slightly and he stopped walking anyways. He glanced up wearily towards the sky where dark clouds were forming.

Inhaling a deep breath, Merlin began to say the words of Dragonlords and Magic. It was strange and dissonant language, not to mention a little frightening, but Arthur couldn't take his eyes away. He rarely could with Merlin. It was - Well, it was beautiful, in its own way. The words flowed in such odd synchronicity, almost as though they were discordant waves rushing over the side of a cliff.

Merlin continued the chant a moment longer before cutting off suddenly. He exhaled, letting out what breath he had left.

Then he grinned slightly, turning to the prince, "There's a big enough clearing not far ahead, he'll meet us there soon."

Arthur nodded, and they set forward again. The silence turned dark, Merlin clearly still grieving over the memory of his father, so Arthur made it his mission to keep the other man talking about something he loved, something... magic.

"I meant to ask, how did you get me out of Camelot in the first place? One moment I was in the dungeons with Morgana and the ... pain, and the next thing I know there's a flash of light and I'm in your arms. I thought I had died."

They shuffled in silence a few moments before Merlin finally answered. He spoke slowly, trying to figure it out himself, "I don't know, actually. The spell I was using wasn't working, but then all of a sudden it... did."

They fell into the sad quiet again and Arthur, desparate to keep Merlin talking, asked further, "Well, what was the spell? I mean, what did it entail?"

Luckily - thankfully - Merlin replied, "Normal spell-like things. What I would imagine a summoning spell to be over distance; draw the markings, chant the words, have a piece of the person's home resting in the centre."

"What did you use as my home?"

"The dirt from Camelot I had gotten the night we left."

"And it didn't work?"

Merlin shook his head, content to leave it at that. Arthur paused, mulling over the information. He knew, admittably, very little about magic, but what he did know is that it couldn't just go from not-working to fine-and-dandy.

The warlock continued lazily, "I got angry, frustrated, and tried to mess up the circle. Maybe once I stepped on it, I corrected the drawings and the enchantment was able to sort itself out and work..."

Seeming to accept this idea, the warlock went quiet. But Arthur had developed a different solution, one he would have thought clear.

"So you say it didn't work until you stepped on the lines?"

Merlin nodded absentmindedly, not seeing what the prince did. Arthur rolled his eyes, continuing slowly, "Well, it's obvious, isn't it?"

The warlock started, "What's obvious?"

Arthur was giving him the you're-an-idiot look again. But there was something else, too.

"The soil didn't work because Camelot isn't my home."

"Of course it is, it's -"

"No, it's not. Merlin," the prince said, turning so he could face Merlin directly, "it worked because you stepped into the circle - You are my home." _and you are my heart, _he finished in his mind.

Merlin's eyes widened. He took a hesitant step forward, then another, until he was standing only inches away from the prince. Arthur leaned down and ducked his head to look up into Merlin's eyes. He brought one hand up to hold the warlock's face gently, using the other hand to take Merlin's hand and bring it up to their chests. He placed their palms overtop Arthur's chest, and they could both feel the resonating, consistant _thump _of the Prince's beating heart.

Merlin's eyes began to shine, and he opened his mouth as though about to say something, something important and life-changing, something Arthur had waited rather a long time to hear -

Which was exactly when the blasted dragon decided to make his appearance.

The massive, rusting gold dragon flapped its wings twice in succesion before tucking them into his sides and landing with a restonating _thud_ that shook the earth.

Merlin closed his mouth and moved away, chuckling at Arthur's thinly veiled grumblings as he did the same. That is, until the prince actually looked up at the dragon who was regarding him wearily with one gigantic eye.

"I thought it about time you called me, young warlock, as I would have expected you to require my help by now."

Merlin nodded, "Morgana has taken over Camelot, we need your help to reclaim it."

The Great Dragon dipped his head once in acknowledgement, and said, "I will do what I can. It is not her destiny to have the throne, that lies in the hands of Arthur. The once and future king of Albion." Kilgharrah stared pointedly at the prince before him. "Who stands before me now, at last. The other side to the same coin."

Arthur gazed up at the dragon in awe, and unable to contain his curiousity asked, "Albion?"

Merlin just chuckled again, murmuring to Arthur, "Ignore that. Doesn't really come into play for a while yet."

"And what's he going on about coins for?"

"Stop asking questions."

"Do you have a plan, Merlin?" The dragon asked, his eyes never straying from the confused prince.

"Somewhat. Fly in and scare away the bad guys?"

Arthur tore his gaze away from the dragon in order to roll his eyes. "Expert strategizing, Merlin. Really, first class thinking."

"Arthur?"

"What?"

"Shut up."

"... that's my line."

"Clotpole."

They were interupted by a booming chortle of laughter from Kilgharrah. "I see a great future lies ahead for the both of you. But in order for this to come to pass, Morgana must be dealt with swiftly, along with the witch Morgause."

The two men nodded and Merlin set forward to approach the dragon's side. Arthur followed wearily, not exactly keen on the idea of flying into the city. Kilgharrah lowered his body to the ground so that the two could climb up his side with more ease. Once they were seated on the crook of his neck, the dragon spoke again,

"Be warned, young warlock, and be wary of your power; the witch must live."

Merlin was startled by the information, protesting, "But how can that be, you said she had to die - I don't want to kill her, of course I don't, but if it is the only way to insure Camelot's safety then I will."

"You will not. Do not fear, Merlin, it is Morgana's destiny to live, but to live away from Camelot. Trust yourself. You do not have to kill her again."

The term confused Arthur, wondering why the dragon had to say 'again', and he saw the pain that shot through Merlin's eyes as he recounted a memory. The warlock looked as though in turmoil with the new information, his sense of reason fighting against his hatred to hurt who had once been a dear friend.

Arthur could see Merlin struggling and tightened his arms around the warlock's waist in a comforting squeeze. The warlock relaxed slightly, so Arthur took the opportunity to address the dragon directly.

"Kilgharrah?"

A pause. "Yes, young Pendragon?"

Slightly disgruntled at being called 'young', Arthur continued,

"I would like now to apologize for my father's actions. Had I known of your imprisonment, I would have done all I could to solve the situation peacefully. Knowing this, I cannot blame you for your actions towards Camelot. I don't expect forgiveness, but perhaps you could see me in a different light than my father, as I hope to lead in ways different than he."

Arthur held his breath as the dragon considered his words carefully. What felt like ages passed, though Merlin's calm, measured breathes assured the prince that only seconds were passing. Finally, Kilgharrah spoke, "I believe you will, and what you speak is true. Your future is bright, young Pendragon, and perhaps Camelot will see a future where magic can exist freely as was meant sooner than we thought. For that I thank you."

The prince nodded, feeling better. Merlin glanced back over his shoulder and smiled, giving Arthur's hand a squeeze. Then he turned forward, his gaze piercing the horizon over which the city lay sleeping. The warlock tightened his grip on both the dragon and Arthur, and said with a low, determined conviction,

"Alright. To Camelot."

* * *

><p><strong>Four things: I'll try to update more often from now on, but I'm heading to Japan for a while in a few weeks so I'll see if I can't finish this up before I leave. No promises. If not, updates may be rarer. Sooorry.<strong>

**So much sap. Arrghhalas. Apologizeses.**

**Is kingship even a word?**

**Dun dun duuuh, foreshadowing. Aaah.**


	10. Chapter 10

**I was going to wait until the weekend to post this, but I'm feeling kind. So, here we are.  
>Actually mildly pleased with this. Stuff goes dooown.<br>enjoy! review! bake cookies! Whatever tickles your fancy, really.**

* * *

><p>The wind echoed in beats as Kilgharrah's wings drummed steadily across the night sky. A few hours waited until daylight would break, giving them ample time to reach the city before Gwaine and the knights would rally. Which was exactly what Merlin needed. Enough time to talk to Morgana.<p>

Arthur's arms tightened around Merlin's waist as the dragon hit a gust of wind, knocking them sideways and dipping through the air. The warlock chuckled at the prince's nervousness - it was such a rare experience, he may as well relish it while he could. Arthur never showed his emotions so blatently. Merlin's smile softened. Well, he never used to.

Tilting his head back, Merlin pressed his lips to Arthur's ear, chuckling lightly when the prince started, surprised. "Not much further," he murmured, knowing Arthur would hear him. "Are you ready?"

Arthur nodded, not trusting his voice to remain steady. They _were_ rather high up, riding atop a dragon, headed towards what would more than likely result in many deaths, and Merlin's lips _were_ still resting against his ear. So he didn't trust his voice, no. But Merlin got the idea, returning a nod and pulling back to face forward.

If one looked particularily carefully, and knew exactly what they were looking for, the tall spires and strong walls of Camelot's city gates were nearly discernable over the edge of the looming horizon. Nearly.

Merlin felt his stomach clench involuntarily, anxiety overwhelming him. He wasn't scared, not really - he knew this could end in only two ways. They could win, Morgana defeated, Arthur returns and takes the throne of Camelot, and the country prospers under his reign for many years to come. This was, obviously, a viable and the preferable option.

Or they lose. And they die.

Merlin knew either option could, and very possibly would, result in his own death. That was alright. He lived to protect Arthur, and he would do so right until the end, whether that be today or in a hundred years from now. But the anxiety came from a fear sprouted in that idea.

Arthur had to live. There was simply no alternative. What was Camelot, the knights, the realm, without King Arthur? What was Merlin? The warlock let out a great exhale, the air he didn't know he was holding rushing out of his lungs. Merlin shook his head, determined. No.

Arthur had to live.

No matter what the cost.

* * *

><p>It was as though the air had gone still as the great dragon circled Camelot's courtyard. Or what was left of it. Merlin looked on in horror at the state of it - crumbling stone; houses burning in some places, gone entirely in others; signs of where bodies had recently laid. It filled him with a burn he had never felt, an all-consuming rage, but over that - the need to <em>do something about it.<em>

They landed silently, Kilgharrah's wings stretching to slow them before steadying himself on the ground. Merlin and Arthur slipped off silently. Without speaking, Arthur leaned down and grabbed a sword off the courtyard ground, seemingly discarded by a fighting villager or knight. He flexed his arm, spinning the sword around to check its weight. It seemed to fit whatever expectations he had set, for he nodded and turned back to walk in step with Merlin.

The first signs of light were peeking out from behind the destroyed walls, the sky filled with that pale light of early hours. There was an edge to the air, an anticipation. Like it knew what was coming.

Merlin nodded once to the dragon, who returned the gesture before jolting back into the air and flying into the distance. It would be just them, now. Waiting. Merlin turned to face the castle, Arthur mirroring his actions. They remained silent.

Morgana appeared at the top of the stairs. Her skin was ghostly pale, her eyes surrounded by a dark shadow of both beauty and evil, her dress trailing behind her every step like a second shadow. Morgause remained by her side, looking on both triumphantly and wearily, as though the power of her sister surpasses what she would like. Fear, mixed with admiration, fills her gaze.

The witch stops but a few paces from the two men, observing them with a indescerinable expression. Merlin thinks it is hate. Arthur thinks it is contempt. Morgause thinks it is sadness.

Still, they do not speak.

It's as though the slightest whisper will disrupt and destroy the illusion they've created; the veil that exists where they aren't yet fighting, yet nor is it the past of weakness and youth. Just for that moment, they can be separate and whole, together and apart, at peace.

But it cannot last forever.

"Merlin," Morgana said, her voice smooth as silk, "You were behind this. Arthur's escape, I'm referring to. Your handiwork, I'm presuming?"

Merlin nods, uneasy. He doesn't like how though she speaks to him, her gaze never wavers from Arthur. The latter holds her glare steadily, matching it with a surprising calm.

Morgana grins, a slight bare of the teeth, "Have you admired his new _markings?_" She laughs, and it sends chills down Merlin's spine. "Now _those _were fun - and permenant, I'm pleased to say. A part of him forever. Or as long as his forever shall last. A reminder."

To her surprise, Arthur smiled slightly, barely - just a curve at the edge of his lips. Merlin even let out an airy laugh, shaking his head. "A reminder, yes," he said, looking over to Arthur, "But perhaps not what you would like him to be reminded of."

The wind blows up a sudden gust, sending Morgana's hair spinning around her face, hiding it. Distorting it. Her eyes narrow, and she raises her hand at Merlin. The warlock's smile drops entirely and he faces her, serious. He chooses his words carefully, speaking with a measured determination,

"It doesn't have to be this way, Morgana."

"Oh, but it does, Merlin."

"You know that's not true. You see me, what I am," he raises his arm to indicate Arthur, "and how it can be accepted. We don't have to live in fear anymore. We can have peace."

"It was never about peace." Morgana took a step forward, closer to the two men. They stayed steadfast. "It was about what was _right."_

Thrusting her arm forward, Morgana sends Arthur flying through the air. Merlin sends a fleeting spell behind him to soften Arthur's landing before flying his own spell towards Morgana. The ground beneath her began to shake, and she leaped out of the way just before a massive piece of stone from what had once been a wall came hurtling into the spot where she had just stood.

Out of the corner of his eye, Merlin saw Morgause run towards the city gates. His eyes grew bright as he tried to prevent her from reaching her destination, but Morgana pulled his attention back before he could.

She smirked, "You really think you stand a chance against me, Merlin? What are you but a serving boy with a dangerous hobby." Her eyes darkened to a dangerous gold as she snarled, "You are nothing, _nothing _compared to me!"

Throwing both her arms up, she cast a dangerous spell to kill Merlin by destroying his mind from the inside out - a highly complicated, effective spell that would leave most dead before they could even blink; that would result in a death so painful, so agonizing, it was hardly ever used, even on arch enemies.

Merlin blocked it with a slight flick of his wrist.

Morgana stopped. She waited.

But Merlin kept standing there. After a moment, he smiled mockingly.

Her eyes widened, and Morgana stumbled back involuntarily. What was this _power,_ where was it coming from? Merlin was... for gods' sake, he was a servant! This, this was beyond anything she had seen - leagues beyond what Morgause had shown her, easily rivalling even Morgana's own power, if not greater.

"Who," she whispered, "Who are you?"

Merlin answered grimly, "The druids call me Emrys."

Morgana recoiled as though struck. Her mind spun and whirled, trying beyond all reason to comprehend what she had just heard. Merlin was _Emrys?_ That was not possible, Emrys was an old man, she had seen him before -

Information flooded her mind and forced her to her knees, clutching her head desparately in an attempt to maintain her sanity.

_He is your destiny. And he is your doom._

She looked up, meeting his never wavering gaze of disdain. Swallowing her fear, she stood and faced him head on. Forcing to keep her voice steady should she speak.

Merlin watched her carefully as she registered what he said. Her collapse had startled him - apparently his Druid title had caused her alarm, moreso than he expected. She glared at him as she stood, talking measured steps forward.

"No matter. This will end, Emrys, and it will not end in your favor."

A low _thump _ echoed behind them, causing them both to glance back in surprise. Merlin grinned at the sight - it seemed Gwaine and the knights had arrived. The sounds and clashes of battle played in the distance as the pair locked eyes once more. Merlin felt Arthur come up beside him at nearly the same moment Morgause appeared next to Morgana.

The warlock badly wanted to turn and check with his own eyes if Arthur was alright, but resisted. He couldn't risk looking away from Morgana, not now.

No one breathed. Everything was still.

Arthur was the first to move, lunging around and engaging Morgana in a deadly sword fight. Merlin dived to the side, his eyes burning gold as he sent Morgause flying. The blond witch hit the ground with a crash, shakily rising quick as she could, sending pieces of stone flying towards Merlin's head.

The clangs of swords meeting are spinning through his ears as Merlin dives out of the way. He glances quickly over to where Arthur and Morgana are fighting. Arthur is keeping her busy enough that she can't use magic in her favor - but it looks like an even fight. It seems magic hasn't been the only skill Morgana has been training.

Turning his attention back to Morgause, Merlin grabs a torch from a nearby flame and throws it towards her, intending to cast a spell to increase its heat - but she's much closer than he had thought. She reflects it easily, running up and grabbing Merlin by the throat.

Her strength enhanced through magic, Merlin finds himself trapped and struggling frantically for air. Morgause snarls and tightens her grip. Spots of white start colouring his vision, and Merlin is sure this is the end. He only wished he could stay for Arthur, to make sure the prat didn't get himself killed...

In a last fit of effort, Merlin kicks out towards Morgause's shin - to his surprise, it knocks her back, hissing in pain. Great gulps of air find their way into his lungs as Merlin breathes air in deep. Allowing himself only a moment to rest, he glances to his side and formulates a very quick, very flawed plan.

Merlin grabs Morgause's arm and pulls the both of them under the overhang of what appeared to be an old shop. Shouting words of the old religion, all the while keeping a firm grip to hold Morgause in place, Merlin brings the roof down on them.

The crash distracts Arthur and Morgana's vicious fight. Arthur watches helplessly and catches just the last image of the roof coming down over the two figures. "Merlin!" he screams desparately, turning so he could run and get the other man out before it was too late. Morgana seeming had the same idea for Morgause, as she turned from their fight as well.

Before either of them could move, a figure pushed their way out of the crumbled, burning debris, coughing as they went. Dazed and slightly bloodied, but otherwise unharmed, Arthur's heart restarted as he laid eyes on Merlin stumbling towards them. The prince rushed forward to meet him, grasping the man by his shoulders to hold him up.

Morgana pushed past them, throwing her hand forward - the debris went flying, revealing Morgause's crumpled form.

Dead.

Morgana let out a wail of despair, a shriek so heartwrenching and pained, Merlin wanted badly to cover his ears just to make it stop. The dark haired witch clutched the body of her sister to her chest, tears of anger and grief already streaking down her cheeks as she rocked, back and forth. Arthur and Merlin looked on, pity in their eyes.

In the distance, the pair could hear Gwaine and Leon shouting orders to the villagers and knight, triumphant cries called back as answers. It seemed the forces the knights had assembled were pushing back the witches' armies - Morgause's death must have depleated what strength they had.

Arthur sighed and loosened his grip on the warlock's shoulders, allowing his head to fall forward and rest on Merlin's forehead. "It's nearly over," Arthur murmured, Merlin bringing his arm up to take the prince's hand in his own. "We're okay." He smiled weakly, getting a similar expression in return.

Suddenly, it was quiet. Much too quiet. The two spun around just in time to see Morgana rise, glaring at Arthur with such hate and fury, it shook him to the bone. "You. You've done this, Arthur. All of this has been your fault, and you shall pay for it with your life!"

Morgana pulled out a jeweled hilt from her dress, throwing the knife with such a precision that only years of training, or magic, could achieve. Arthur looked on, helpless, as the flew towards his heart - he knew he couldn't move in time, Morgana had frozen him in place with magic.

The prince screwed his eyes shut and waited for the pain.

But none came.

He waited for the sharp sting, the heat of the blood, the cold that would follow. The agony. Hesitantly, cautiously, he opened his eyes.

Morgana laid dead where she had just stood. Her eyes, which had seem to be eternally burning, had gone flat, the life drained from them. Never had she looked so weak, so sad, then in death.

But that wasn't what Arthur was looking at.

Because the pain had come. Just not how he expected.

Merlin stood in front of him, the jeweled hilt of the blade protruding out his chest. The warlock's hands reached up to touch, and came away drenched in deep red. Arthur's eyes widened in horror and he instinctivly caught the warlock as he fell back. Glancing up to meet Arthur's eyes, his own fluttering weakly, Merlin coughed and choked out a quiet, "Sorry."

Merlin's eyes closed.

And they did not open.


	11. Chapter 11

They gave Merlin a knight's burial, alighting the boat from the shore. Gwen thought that was what he would want.

Arthur thought the pain might stop after the first month.

When it didn't, he waited another.

It still didn't fade. If anything, the overwhelming agony that struck him every instant Merlin came to his mind, which was nearly every moment, grew stronger over time.

Minutes felt like hours. Hours felt like years. Each day was a lifetime, and every night Arthur wished it would end. It was as good as done, without him.

He wouldn't say it out loud. He couldn't. Only once, to Gaius, because he owed the old man that much. The physician did not cry when Arthur told him, almost like he knew. Like he knew the words 'Merlin is dead' would come soon enough, and would come from Arthur. Gaius held no resentment for the man. Only sadness.

The knights had come to the lake with Arthur; for support, and for Merlin.

It was Gwaine that had found them in the courtyard that day unmoving, Arthur clutching Merlin's lifeless body with such ferocity that it took four knights to pull him off. His eyes were so dark, so empty, so frightened - he had lost what he had valued more than anything else in this world. Arthur's face that day haunted Gwaine from then on, but nothing hurt the knight like the sight of Merlin, blood streaming down his chest, glazed blue eyes that would never see again, never light up with a smile or darken with concern. The prince, who had since then been crowned king after Uther's breakdown, didn't speak a word for weeks. He sat alone in his room; any servant or noble that dared enter left with the same pale face and frightened eyes.

Only when Guenivere pushed her way in and told him off did the king show any emotion. Hers weren't the arms he sought, but they would do - but only because she had loved Merlin, too. Only then did he allow himself to break down, sobbing and cursing the world deep into the night. And she held him, accepting her role as a substitute, because it was what Arthur needed right now. If people assumed things when she came to Arthur's room every night, the two let them - no one could really doubt what Arthur had felt for his manservant. What he still felt. The king fell asleep every night with Gwen's arms around him, the only thing holding him together.

Because sleeping was as bad as being awake. Every night Arthur re-lived that day, the worst of his life. Every night, he watched Merlin die. And every night, he woke up screaming.

Arthur saw his father only once after that day. The king had been a shadow of his former self, broken and ghostly, eyes unseeing and thoughts unmoving. Arthur imagined he looked vaguely similar, if not a little further from insanity's grasp. Since then he had been crowned king, the only time in Camelot's history in which the predecessor was still alive, and accepted all the accompanying duties. Arthur didn't really want the crown, not really. But he understood why it had to be so. He wasn't so far gone as to lose sight of the kingdom, it's needs, priorities.

That night at sunset Arthur watched the city from his window, as he often did. Gwen had left Camelot during the afternoon, part of a necessary peace-keeping trip with some of the knights to a neighbouring kingdom on his behalf. She had taken the role of his voice since their arrangement began, similar to the way a Queen might. But Gwen never overstepped her boundries, for which Arthur was grateful. Guenivere was one of the few and far between who actually cared for Arthur, and truly just wanted to help him make it through.

The king sighed as he watched the city bustle below, calm and peaceful, preparing for dark. The world, still turning. It wasn't fair. When Merlin died, why hadn't the world died with him? Arthur shook his head of thought, the only tactic he had been able to use to numb the pain; if not thinking of Merlin, he thought of nothing at all.

A tentative knock at the door disturbs him, and the king glances up as the servant enters. The king waves the boy away quickly, the servant obliging with unnerving speed, seemingly relieved. Arthur can't blame him - he's been a bloody awful king so far. The only reason he got out of bed in the morning was because he knew that's what Merlin would have wanted. The only reason he sat in on council meetings, listened to the villagers, trained the knights. He couldn't abandon Camelot, not when Merlin had died for it. For him.

Arthur sinks into the bed, clutching his head in his hands. Pulling his shirt off, he brings his fingers up to graze over the golden dragon imprinted on his side. The only reminder he had left. He feels the heat sting behind his eyes, and doesn't make to stop the tears slide down his cheeks. He hardly notices them anymore.

"You promised you wouldn't leave," the king whispered, "This isn't home, Merlin, I can't - I can't do this without you. I just can't." He takes a deep breath, and shakily breathes back out. Arthur shuts his eyes tight, his throat constricting as panic threatens to overtake him once more. But he needs to say it now, what he never could in person, what haunts him every night because Arthur never told him -

"I love you, you bloody idiot. So don't be dead, please, Merlin, for me."

Arthur waited, eyes screwed shut. But nothing happened, because this isn't a fairytale, and a few words won't fix everything. Nothing happened, because life isn't fair. Everybody knows that everybody dies. So nothing happened.

But then something did.

The dragon beneath his fingers began to glow, the skin heating and tingling so suddenly Arthur pulled his hand back in shock. Then it began to move. The creature danced on his side, curling round his back to his chest, wings swooping outwards and inwards, gliding smoothly, and the tail following carefully behind. Arthur looked on in wonder as it paused atop his upper chest, watched as it grew smaller and grew brighter, curling in on itself faster and faster until it covered his heart with a golden shine.

There was a flash of bright light. Arthur blinks back the white spots in his vision, waiting for his eyes to adjust. He jumps from the bed, moving more quickly than he has in a long time, in case of a threat. He closes his eyes, releving in the darkness, then opens them.

It was like he never left.

The same shirt, the jacket. The same neckerchief tucked lazily around his long, pale neck. The same dark hair sticking up in all directions. The same goofy smile, now calm and peaceful. The same eyes that had always been able to see right through him.

It was almost like Arthur could reach out and hold the other man in his arms, laugh with him again, cry. But he can't, he knows that, so he doesn't. Instead, he only stares, drinking in the image and relishing every last detail he's been able to recall. He watches the warlock shift from leg to leg, his smile fade slightly, his eyes darken. Still, Arthur doesn't move.

A loud bang sounds from behind them, and Arthur turns around sharply. Merlin doesn't move. A pause, then Gwen appears from around the door, panting slightly, talking quickly, "We only just got back, I didn't think you would want to be alone tonight. I hurried but the council needed to -"

She stopped.

Arthur watched her eyes leave his and look at a spot over his shoulder. He watched as tears spilled from her eyes, down her cheeks, and watched as she covered her mouth in surprise. "Arthur," she sobbed, her voice choked, "Arthur, what are you doing?"

He just watched her. Her eyes tore away from the spot behind him, delving into his. She continued, speaking louder, repeating, "Arthur, what are you doing? He's here, and you're just standing there?"

Arthur freezes, not daring to move. He blinks once, slowly, unwilling to gather any emotions at all. He speaks quietly, confused.

"But... You mean, you see him, too?"

"Arthur."

The king didn't think he would hear that voice ever again.

Arthur turned away from Gwen, back to face the other man in the room. He took a step forward. Then another. He reached out his hand.

And Merlin caught it with his own.

Arthur's legs collapsed beneath him, before he knows it he's falling - but Merlin catches him, holds him. Arthur's mind is unbelievably blank as he reaches up, touching his fingers to the warlock's chest, his neck, his face, anything to see; to make sure this is real, and even if it's not, does it matter? All that matters is Merlin, that he's here, he's alive.

Arthur wraps his arms around the other man's chest, pulling him down as they fall towards the floor. He can feel the tears stinging his face, feel them on Merlin's. He clutches the warlock's shirt, grasping him in an embrace so tight neither can really breath. But they can't bring themselves to care. The king pulls back and holds the warlock at arm's length, drinking in everything he's missed, what he had thought was lost.

Then Arthur kisses him, and Merlin's lips taste like salt and tears, but also undeniably like Merlin, and that's what he needs more than anything else in the world. The warlock responds, holding Arthur tight, arms wrapped around the king's neck protectively and hands clutching his blond hair. They pull apart, but barely, only centimetres of space between them.

"How?" Arthur whispers, but knows right now he doesn't really care _how. _He just cares that it _is._

Merlin smiles, holding Arthur's face in his hands, lighting up like a star. He whispers back, "Magic."

* * *

><p><strong>I couldn't resist keeping our boy dead for a bit, if nothing else than for some angsty Arthur. I know, I know, cop-out ending. Dragon had to serve <strong>_**some **_**purpose, other than just making Arthur prettier.  
>I don't know what a knight's burial really is. I just wanted Merlin on the lake, like Freya and Lancelot. Pardon my historical inaccuracies - but I mean, really. It's Merlin. Historical accuracy was never really at the top of their lists.<strong>

**Speaking of which, I still don't own anything. Darn.  
><strong>

**Epilogue should be up soon. Should (hopefully) answer the little annoying details that I didn't explain. Then that's it, people; the end is near.**


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